


Bartzabel

by monstersinthecosmos



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Hate fucking, M/M, they're both sad about armand lmao, vampire typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstersinthecosmos/pseuds/monstersinthecosmos
Summary: Kinktober prompt  - Hate-fucking.Takes place after that moment in TVA when Armand can hear them working together to clean up VAMPIRE FORENSIC EVIDENCE.





	Bartzabel

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Still x-posting Tumblr fics to here. Don't mind me! 
> 
> I named this after [Bartzabel by Behemoth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dhfy9TPga-c) because I mostly wrote this while I listened to it over and over. On one hand, that's just a random tribute to this incredible heart-wrenching beautiful song, but on another hand Bartzabel is the spirit of Mars, which I think is an interesting tie in to Marius comparing Armand to Botticelli's Mars. ;)

He keeps trying to quantify the pain he’s feeling. It’s an exercise in unearthing all tragedies befallen him. Usually dwelling there would hurt even more, but everything else feels far away, on mute. He can’t focus on Rome or Akasha or the cold centuries without Pandora. He thinks maybe that before losing Armand he didn’t know what pain was. **  
**

Of course, the obvious comparison is… the first time he lost Armand. And the flames on his body were maybe similar. Santino is with him though, so he’s trying not to think about it, because he keeps remembering Pandora’s voice and how she’d urged him to behave.

The pain is heavy in his limbs, his chest. It hurts when he breathes and he wants to sleep. He wonders if he should get away soon, maybe hunt, because he can feel the obsessively manicured demeanor fading on the outside. There’s hunger beneath it, anger. If he can kill something he can submit to the id.  

But Santino is here in his apartment and they’re left with the awkward silence.  _Be nice to him, a lot has changed_ , Pandora said. But the grief is everywhere, every inch of his skin, stinging in his very pores the way the fire did. It’s closing in around him now, suffocating and dark, and he suddenly needs to be alone.

He presses his fingers to his brow, too exhausted to know what to do. He can’t look at Santino and wants to be underground. Somewhere cold.

_I should have been different._

Santino is hovering by the door and his mind gives nothing away but his posture does. Uneasy, and he seems like he wants to leave, too. It gives Marius some small degree of comfort, like it’ll remove the need to dismiss him.

“Marius, I…”

_You are very very wrong._

Santino’s head tilts to the side like he’s weighing what he wants to do, and it’s clear that he’s trying to read Marius’s face. Marius is trying to keep his thoughts locked but it’s so tiring. Maybe things are slipping through.

“He loved you,” Santino says.

And damn Pandora. Damn Maharet. There’s pressure behind his eyes and he’s trying not to think about how easy it would be to get it over with, get rid of him now. He puts his mind somewhere else, tries to box the hostility away because he doesn’t think he can hide it.

He takes his jacket off, tries to keep his movements measured as he hangs it on the back of a chair. He can hear words in his head, all the things he should say, the way he should proceed.   _I’m going to retire for the evening_ , he could say, or he could be more blunt and say  _I’d like to be alone now_. Maybe something simple like  _Thank you._

But when he turns and sees Santino’s face again, shaved clean and set expressionless, his voice tumbles out on its own, without his permission.

“I don’t need you to tell me that he loved me,” Marius says. He clenches his jaw like he can take it back, but it’s ringing between them. Santino doesn’t betray a reaction aside from the vague flutter of an eyebrow.

His mind flashes on the bloodied, burnt velvet again and there’s a moment he thinks he might scream. And he needs to get away, needs Santino to leave, because it’s not something he knows how to share. His hands fidget at his sides, curling into fists so his nails dig into his palms.

Why hasn’t Santino left?

“Would you like me to call Pandora?” he asks. Marius almost asks why, but then he can feel it radiating out of Santino’s thoughts. It’s concern. It’s _pity_. And suddenly he’s seeing red, and he doesn’t know if it’s from rage or from tears.

He’s across the room before he’s realized it, and he’s not thinking when his fist connects hard to the corner of Santino’s jaw. Santino falls back and hits the wall. His neatly combed hair falls out of place, down over his eyes, but he’s smart enough not to look surprised.

“You did this to him,” Marius hisses. He doesn’t recognize his own voice and doesn’t know where the words are coming from, except that it feels like something breaking open inside. He presses in close to Santino’s space. “You filled him with lies.”

Santino flexes his jaw and it clicks back into place. There’s blood gathering at the corner of his mouth from where the inside of his cheek shredded against his teeth. He wipes at it with the back of his hand, still calm.

“You can have that one,” he says. He puts a hand on Marius’s chest. “I’m going to leave now.”

Santino has swallowed the blood in his mouth but his lips are still red. Marius can smell it. And he knows he’d wanted to be alone. He knows he’d needed to hunt. But the smokiness of Santino’s blood, dark and sensual, has the last of his restraint cracking.  _Don’t go._  But he’s not going to say that. He won’t.

So maybe it happens now. He knew it was coming, closing in. He knew the weight of grief would crush him and had hoped to be alone, but here it is. It’s pressing down hard and fast, and he hadn’t been brave enough to take the image of Armand’s final moments from David or Lestat, but he remembers the fire. He remembers Armand screaming for him as the heat and light took over. That much is enough.

“I taught him better than this,” he says. Santino’s hand eases back and the traces of blood are gone now. His face is so gentle, unbothered. Marius never got the entire story of what happened but he can see how Armand might have been persuaded. It makes the rage bubble up again.

This time it’s square on the mouth, and he feels Santino’s lip splitting open. Marius’s knuckles crack against Santino’s teeth, and his head falls back to connect with the wall. He actually looks shocked this time, but before he can move to react, Marius hits him again. He isn’t sure where it’s coming from but Armand is gone and he can’t stop.

Santino ducks away from the next one so that Marius leaves a hole in the wall, and his hand is covering his mouth but the blood is seeping between his fingers. It’s going down the front of his shirt and dropping onto the floor. The scent of it is making Marius’s skin go tight.

He wonders how long it would take for Santino to be provoked. Wonders what he can say to push him to anger. His hand shakes at his side and he feels the bones mending and he tries to focus on the pain. But it’s healing too fast, it’s going away. Not like the fire. The fire had hurt for weeks. He remembers the way it grated over his skin, the way the dirty water in the canal made it sting. And he can’t remember what they’d looked like as they’d swarmed through the palazzo. In his mind he can only see Santino.

His face is disarming, though. Handsome and open and if he stares long enough he’ll see the hurt there.  _If you think I never loved him…_

“You took him from me,” Marius says. And he can’t help but think about the night he found Armand, how frail he’d been, how dirty. He’d spent such a long time playing those first moments over and over in his head, while he was burnt and hurt, even when he made it to the Shrine. He imagined Armand that way in Santino’s possession–filthy and scared, hair full of knots.

Santino opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, but his eyes go stormy and he stops himself. Marius can’t read his expression but there’s a flash of spite coming from Santino’s thoughts, something spilling through. It’s a lot to unwind, something like thinking that Marius is selfish. The idea of it makes Marius bristle. He wants to hit Santino again but before he can move to do it, Santino is baring his teeth. They’re red still, blood around the edges.

“You didn’t own him,” Santino says. “You didn’t even know him.”

Selfish. _I lost him, too,_  Santino is thinking.

He’s ready to swing again, maybe even claw. His mind is going hazy and red and he wants to kill something. But Santino reaches up this time to block him, and with his hands away from his face Marius sees the way the blood is gushing from his nose, painting stripes down his mouth, over his chin.

“I’m not going to hit you back,” he says. It crushes Marius even more. _Please hit me back._

The hand settles on his chest again, gentle, rubbing up and down his breast bone like it can soothe him. It should be comforting but it’s only irritating. He’s too hungry. Santino’s other hand comes up to tug at the knot of Marius’s tie, straightening it until it’s settled in the hollow between his collar bones. His fingertips press down into it, and Marius feels it in his throat for a moment, but then he eases and trails downwards, wraps his hand around the length of it.

There’s enough of a tug around his neck for it to feel assertive, suggestive, but there’s no real power behind it.

“I’m going to leave now,” he says calmly. He licks blood from his bottom lip, but it does nothing to take away from the sight of mess on his face. “I’ll call to Pandora. I’ll tell her to come.”

 _Don’t leave,_ he’s thinking, and hopes Santino doesn’t hear. There’s panic rising, frantic, and Santino’s face is so serene. He pictures Armand, his Amadeo, broken and cold, starving. What a comfort this face must have been. He puts his hands down on Santino’s shoulders, presses him to the wall.

“Let me go, Marius,” still gentle. His hand is still wrapped around Marius’s tie.

“I want to see,” Marius says. His voice is hoarse. “Show me what you did to him.”

“Marius…”

“You owe it to me.”

There’s a moment where Santino looks afraid. It’s a shimmer that disappears before he can rearrange his expression. It’s shame and heartbreak and vulnerability that he doesn’t want to share, and Marius understands the feeling. But he knows, this close, the scent of Santino’s blood filling his head, that it’s too late to worry about that. They’ve come too far.

He doesn’t answer, but he relaxes under Marius’s hands, allows himself to be crushed to the wall. His brows have come together, he’s on the edge of fury, defiance, and without Marius expecting it at all he pulls hard at the tie to bring them closer. He’s close enough to feel Santino’s cool breath against his face when he speaks.

“What about what  _you_ did to him?”

That’s it. That’s it. His head is swimming and he doesn’t remember where they are, he just feels his muscles strung tight and his nails are digging into Santino’s shoulders, tearing through his suit jacket to the cold skin beneath. Santino hisses and goes to shake Marius off, but he isn’t strong enough. For a moment terror slices through the fragrance of his blood, but then he’s lunging forward, before Marius can react, and his skull smashes against the bridge of Marius’s nose. He hears the impact and he hears the crack of bones beneath. He knows his skin is split and his eye socket is swelling. There’s heat flowing from his nose, his eyes, down onto his white shirt. He can taste it as he stumbles back.

Santino’s hair is loose and he’s stepped away from the wall. There’s a gash in his forehead that’s slowly mending itself, but the blood is dripping down over his eye, tracing the lines in his face. His shoulders are tense and he looks like a feral animal, eyes wild and full of distrust.

There’s no reason why Santino should be able to sneak up on him, surprise him at all. He’s not even half Marius’s age. But Marius is startled when Santino is in his space, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and leaning in to lick the blood from his face. Marius staggers backwards and reflexively grabs at the lapels of Santino’s jacket, so that when he loses his footing they both crash to the floor. His ears are ringing as his head bounces off the marble tile and he knows his skull is cracked, he knows blood is matting in his hair.

But the tongue again, and Santino’s solid weight caging him in. He’s holding Marius by the hair, curled over him, tracing over the shattered orbital bone. Marius has the strength to push him away–he’s aware of this–but he doesn’t. He stays frozen where he is, thinking that this is what he’d wanted.

So when Santino reaches his mouth, and licks into him, swipes across the blood on his teeth, Marius kisses back.

It’s not the same as drinking from him; Marius isn’t feeling Santino’s  _life_ , he isn’t seeing the visions, but he can taste the flavor. Like wine and bitter fruit, dark like smoke. There’s something  _wrong_  about it and it settles in Marius’s gut, but he plunges his tongue deeper, seeking it. His teeth cut Santino’s lip and he sucks at it. Santino groans and pulls Marius’s hair.

 _I hate you,_  he wants to say, but his mouth is full. He doesn’t know if Santino can hear him, feel it. He doesn’t think he cares because nothing matters anymore.

His hands sweep up Santino’s sides, press into his ribs, hover where he can feel the heart pounding beneath his palm. He bites at Santino’s lip again, gouges a hole. The blood is thick and warm, wet, but not enough. He needs to see.

So his hand is around Santino’s throat, hard enough to bruise, and before Santino can react he’s slashed across with his fingernails. He pulls back, and Santino begins to sit up, reaches to cover himself, but the arterial spray fans across Marius’s face. He gasps from the pleasure of it, licks it from his lips, and rolls them over to take it into his mouth.

Santino claws at his shoulders but doesn’t push, isn’t trying to get away. Still, he squirms as Marius clamps down over the wounds, licks into them, but the whimpers leaking out of him don’t sound distressed. His teeth sink into the flesh over the scratch marks, making a mess, and he sucks at the opened stream.

It’s so dark. So, so dark.

But he sees Armand there, like he’d wanted to. He curls his fingers into Santino’s hair to anchor himself, closes his legs tight around Santino’s waist.

He’s there. In rags. Dirt smudged on one cheek but otherwise glowing. Beautiful even like this, because his was a beauty that could not be damaged. His skin is warm from the lantern light, his eyes glassy and alive. Underground somewhere in the dirt. But…

Marius swallows the mouthful of blood and shuts his eyes against the burn.

He seems happy. He’s smiling like someone’s made a joke and there’s love in his eyes. Tender and hopeful. Safe.

_You didn’t even know him._

He pulls away with a wet gasp, and pushes up, off, staggers back. He digs the palms of his hands into his eyes. The bones are healed already and it makes him feel sick.

“Go,” he says. He doesn’t want to look but he hears Santino moving. He retreats backwards, feels a door jamb in his back. “Just go.”

**Author's Note:**

> [cheCK OUT THIS BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK THAT @SUPERHIKI DID OF THE FLASHBACK OF ARMAND OMG](http://superhiki.tumblr.com/post/179090855355) what have I done to deserve him in my life I can't even believe this 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway I'm not gonna be around Tumblr too much anymore but you can find me on [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/monstersinthecosmos) now! I also lurk on [Dreamwidth](https://monstersinthecosmos.dreamwidth.org/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos). Come talk to me about vampire pain!


End file.
